Mixed and wonderful feelings

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I’m still high from last night. Today I realized something kinda funny: I’m good at turning people I have sexed into friends and it is kinda hard walking back to sex from friendship.  Awkward. How do you send signals when you’ve already sent so many “don’t touch me” signals.

Oh man. Complicated.

I have this sneaky suspicion that I want something I am not going to get. That’s ok. Life is like that. Even if I don’t get what I want from this interaction I’m going to cheer like hell for you to get what you want in life. I don’t like this word “deserve” but I think that if you got what you wanted you’d be good at it.

It is weird liking people.

I’m having fun. I hope I am helping other people have fun.

I’m nervous. I’m nervous about how to keep all these balls in the air. Oh I’m having fun. I still feel full of want. It’s deeper and fuller than it was a few days ago. It isn’t as frantic. Thanks, Daddy. I needed that. It really helped.

It also helps that Noah and I have four days straight next week where we are going to do heavy sm because we can. Thank goodness for camp.

Because we want to do it. Because we haven’t seriously played in years because getting the right size and shape of spare time is hard. 

I have such an interesting time visiting the community. Many of the people who were the village elders when I was a snot nosed 18 year old are still there. Still doing what they were doing.

I feel like they look at me differently now. I was talking to Noah about this. I said it feels weird that they treat me with so much respect. He says that usually people don’t have the experience of becoming the kind of grown up their elders respect and that is why it feels so weird to me. I don’t know. I’ve never been someone else.

I feel like the people I grew up respecting now act like they look up to me and that is fucktastically weird for me. I mean… I don’t think they “look up to me”. Shit this stuff is awkward.

I’m a peer. I am no longer a snot nosed kid they mock and deride. They listen to me with respect instead of rolling their eyes. No one has denigrated my opinion in a long time.

When I start kicking the crap out of people for being rude no one even thinks to tell me I shouldn’t because it is just expected that I’m going to do whatever the fuck I’m going to do if you start it.

I don’t start shit. But if you start it I’m going to bring it.

Dominance challenges. Dick contests. Posturing.

Oh motherfucker I can do that.

But I’m told I don’t posture any more. I just lay down my resume and look at you cold because I can back my big talk up and I’m still underselling myself. Ahem.

I’m thrilled to talk loudly about what a wimp I am as everyone watching winces every time I get hit. They know that was a really fucking hard hit.

I’ve spent a lot of years not getting hit and not hitting people. But do you know what I like to do of a Thursday night? (Or really any other night of the week.)

I like to go find one of my dear friends. Because I rarely switch with the same person, as I slink up to someone fluttering my eyelashes… it’s clear what I want. Whether that is to make you cry or for you to try as hard as you can to make me cry.

I really like calling myself a wimp. I’ll say it loud and long. But people who evaluate this sort of thing with credibility tell me that I’m an incredibly heavy masochist. I’m a small woman, so I can’t take what some of the big guys can take.  (Or hell, even some of the big gals.) But I’ve done scenes where audience members had to leave to vomit from fear. Because I’m happy to play until I’m screaming and screaming and screaming and fighting to get away. I’m happy to be hit with canes and single tails until I bleed.

There’s this one guy in the scene. He told me he really wants to cut me open and solder the wounds closed. If I run into him again… I will ask if he is still interested.

Why? Because in twelve years I’ve never been able to get that out of my head.

Fuck yes I’d like to try that.

I would trust that specific man to do this for a long list of very specific reasons I’m not going to list here because hello identifying information.

Some people can’t be as out as me.

I haven’t done tile in two days. I’m so weary of doing it. My hands hurt. Breaks are good. Also: I have to wait for another delivery before I can finish the tree. I should finish the mountain and work on the other corner of the shower.

Those are the most important bits that need to be tiled. The rest is just gravy. I mean, I’m going to do the rest because I have a fuck ton of tile but I’m not going to do all the walls in both half bathrooms in tile. Too expensive. My heart is sad. Paint to the rescue. Good motherfucking thing I know how to use a paintbrush.

I’m afraid I know why I’m sorta procrastinating on tile.

I told myself that if I finished all the tile way before these twerps are done with the remodel… I’d fix some of the yucky paint in the kitchen since I’m going to be dealing with the remodeling chaos still anyway.

I’m perilously close to having to repaint the ceiling. Shit. Years ago the light fixture broke and we replaced it with something not even close to the same size and the ceiling looks like shit and it bugs me.

I want to repaint it to look like a jungle.

Because I’m me. That’s why.

I’m not committing to repainting the whole kitchen right now. That would be nuts. My arms are pissed. (Why do I type? Because I feel weirdly lonely. Even though I had a date today and good sex and I could be snuggling with my family. But my stomach hurts quite a bit so I’m smoking and… that means not with the family. So I talk to myself instead of babbling in IM because after a while I just feel… pathetic.)

I’m going to bed any minute. I hope I’ll sleep late. Tomorrow I get a massage. Yay! My arms!

Tomorrow my tasks are: massage, dispensary run, tile, negotiate with Noah about our upcoming dates, and hang out with the kids. It should be a nice day. (The dispensary run and the negotiating will happen during the window of time when the kids are with the babysitter. Obviously.)

I don’t feel lonely. That’s not fair or accurate. It’s the wrong word. I actually feel very connected, lucky, blessed, and like my life is incredible beyond measure.

But I’m hunting for something and I really don’t know what it is. What I’m doing isn’t scratching the itch yet. I think…

I think I need to stop talking before I get myself in trouble. Goodnight.

I feel less antsy.

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At bed time last night I got dressed up (like up) and went to a munch. The kind of munch that happens at a bar so people play quite a bit. Less like the munches I grew up at where play was inappropriate. But I can adapt!

I asked my other Daddy (I have one in Oakland–the one who told me he doesn’t really have time but maybe; my other Daddy lives in San Jose and is currently slightly less occupied.) what he was doing and he pretty much responded, “Going to the munch with you” so I decided that was a sign and I drove south.

My back tells me today that I was dumb for that bit. But I had so much fun.

I spent two and a half hours kinda egging my friends on to hit me. This was fascinating because I did it differently than I’ve ever done before. I’m a negotiator. Usually I want to negotiate so much that I bore people before the scene starts. I just… didn’t negotiate much last night. After Daddy was dragging me back and forth by my hair for a while I finally interrupted and said, “I should warn you that enough hair pulling leads to a migraine and my head is getting tender.” He switched to holding me forcefully by the throat.

My boobs are gorgeous. I don’t mean because I have nice breasts (although I do) I mean that they are colors and colors and colors.

Thank you Daddy for all the slaps, punches, and pinches. I was grateful to beat off in the middle of you doing it, then I beat off at home, then I begged Noah to fuck me.

Life is so good right this minute.

It wasn’t just Daddy fucking with me! I’m not sure how it turned into a 3 on 1 without any negotiating but some nights are just awesome? Folks missed me? Well I missed them too…

My former Owner and another long-term friend thought it was hilarious to stand there (at different times) and say, “Hit her harder” so I kicked both of them in the shins.

I saw so many people I met right at 18/19. I feel I have come a long way. I feel like I am not very much the same. Even the way I like to be hurt is different.

Ok, I kept saying I am a wuss and you need to be gentle with me… but then Daddy would wind up and hit my breasts about as hard as he can hit. My response was to moan and lean in. The police baton on my ass was quite… motivational. I’m told there is a bruise there too.

Fucking a I had fun.

Ok, this is 0-60. AT LEAST I DIDN’T FUCK ANYONE. I coulda. I saw some invitations on peoples faces. But they would have been strangers. I just… I am not up for that dynamic right now. Anonymous people at a party where my husband is, that’s a small risk. Anonymous people when I’m hunting solo are dangerous at this point. I should stick with the known quantity folks so I know beyond the shadow of a doubt I will be sent home in good shape for doing my job because my friends care about my children.

This Daddy is one my kids spend more time around. He’s a very relaxed, mellow sort of dude.

Until he gets that look on his face and he winds up just to watch me lean into the blow. It’s nice watching how he shudders in satisfaction after a particularly nasty hit.

He says I taught him how to punch and kick. Oh sweetie, really? I’m so glad you’ve been practicing those lessons in the last 10 years because you’ve gotten pretty damn good. I am impressed. Do it again.

One of the tops I was playing with–frankly I didn’t know he was a top. He and I didn’t play more in the past because I didn’t think he topped and I’m not that motivated to top men. I make very few very special exceptions. (Pretty much I have to be wicked in love with you to want to do that to a man on an extended basis. It takes a fuck ton of energy and I don’t have much desire to pour that into people who won’t properly appreciate what it takes out of me.)

So this top… oh baby he just about made my night. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “All those years ago I told you ‘no’. I regret it. I’ll never tell you ‘no’ again.” Swoon dead away. Well I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson.

Now you’re going to have to ask me. Because I’m that kind of shithead.

And the third friend who ended up hurting me for a while…. also someone I think of as a bottom who just felt motivated to jump the fenceline. What the hay!?

It worked. He’s learned a lot about pressure points. He thought it was funny to pick two different spots on my body and apply pressure and ask, “Does spot 1 or spot 2 hurt more?” As I answered he counter balanced by upping the ante on the opposite one over and over till I was screaming.

Oh what a lovely night.

And all without having to ask or be asked or negotiate. God damn it’s good to be experienced.

I did stop the scene once to yank my dress up and show off my underwear and say, “Ok that last hit landed up here (point). I need the rest of them to land lower than here (point).”

Daddy said, “Ok Princess. That’s a good point.” Then he slammed my face back down on the table so he could hit my ass again.

Oh my life is so wonderful. Happy Sigh.

On that note. I need to go masturbate again. Today is going to be a beat off ten times kinda day.

I have chores to do this morning. Then I get to go find a bra with the Professor.

I hope it’ll be another good day.

Biology and chemistry are weird.

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I started bleeding yesterday. The few hours before I started bleeding I was so irritable I felt like I was about to start screaming and never stop. I wasn’t angry. No one had done anything. It’s chemical.

But now I’m bleeding and I just am left with the aching joints and general pain I’ve been making worse by bending over on the floor for hours and hours and hours each day. I’m torn between being frustrated the bathroom remodel is still ongoing and good cheer that I still don’t have to hurry. I’m not done with the tree wall yet. I feel like it will need two more days of work. Maybe three?

Then I need to do the other wall of the shower. I’m still not sure how I’m going to transition from autumn to winter there. That will be the space where the transition needs to start happening. That corner needs to be the change of season. That is when everything finishes dying.

When I was a kid I feel that I was barely aware of passing seasons. Mostly what they meant to me was “Is it the beginning of the school year or the end?” I didn’t have many other associations. Now I’m aware that it would have been hard to notice seasons given how much I moved. I didn’t see plants grow up and change.

I love my yard so much. I feel more grateful with every passing year. I did this. I made this. And it is beautiful. It isn’t so much a planned garden the way other people do planned gardens and I don’t care. I am discovering which parts of my yard like which kinds of pants. I’m doing it through trial and error and goodness this year I’m killing a lot of peas.

I have them spread all over the yard. I’m learning about the various levels of health in my soil in my yard. Some areas have been rototilled lots in the past few years. Some areas are barely amended. Some are just new bought dirt. It’s interesting watching the peas. They aren’t doing how I’d expect.

I’ve gotten a lot of the weeding I care about for the year done. I still need to keep hacking at the blue potato vine. It’s… gone a bit wild and it’s blocking the sun for one of my beds. I need to do a little tree trimming maintenance. I need to add more fertilizer to the roses and food beds. Then it’s watering and harvesting and playing until the next time I feel like adding more plants/seeds. I think this year’s garden is established. I’m not sure how much more room I’d have for anything fun.

I feel so blessed. There is so much color in my yard. It smells so nice. I’m still adding. I will add until I’m literally out of space. I will add stuff until I’m gardening on the roof (if it can handle the weight–I’m going to talk to the roofer I actually trust about this project). I’d love to have above ground raised planting beds on the roof. So the actual dirt/water/plants are several feet off the surface of the roof so that it is weight being supported, but not damp sitting on my roof. We’ll see.

I often have trouble tracking gardening stuff because I get busy with projects in the house and I forget. I feel like this year I should very consciously focus outside every day because I put way more variety of seeds into the ground than usual. This is by far my most ambitious year for variety. I’ve had big gardening years in terms of labor and production–a friend gave me an obscene number of tomato starts one year and I grew and processed over 60 lbs of tomatoes from my back yard. (It took three years to use up the jars.) We used so many fresh tomatoes that year that I got over hating tomatoes.

This remodel is hurting my hands badly. So I can only work for so long.

This is why I don’t do handicrafts. This pain.

Pinching is so horrible. My fingers ache.

But! Yesterday I finally figured out that I should put long strips of tape down and then do a whole row of tiles and that is way faster and less work for my hands. It uses almost twice as much tape and right now I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.

I am going to go through a palette of tape.

The kids are being so patient with this project. It is a nigth and day difference between doing this project and finishing the garage when they were babies. This is so much easier. They are so patient. I suspect my kids are as good at working as I work because they’ve never had a choice. This has been their whole life. Training pays off. They can keep busy forever.

I don’t know many people in the whole world who are as good at finding a way to entertain their brains as my kids. They can find fascination in anything. I don’t do any where near as well. I’m a computer addict. I want to talk to people. I want atttttttttttention.

They want attention too and they will pick talking to people over anything else but if no one is available they still have a great day. If I go a day without talking to people on IM I get sad and depressed. I check in with so many people it is a wonder my fingers aren’t falling off.

But I don’t feel scared today. My jaw is relaxed. My stomach is clearly empty and getting hungry but it doesn’t feel like a knot of tension.

This is a good day. Pam isn’t visiting us tonight. She was invited to a show. That’s not the good part. I’d actually like to talk to Pam right now. I’m not feeling bitchy. Ha. But I’ll get more work done. Sigh.

Because of how badly the tile work hurts my back I’ve been crapping out after about three hours. I still have the full time jobs of being a housewife, home schooler, my gardening is more than a part time job, I write…

I feel like about three hours a day of tile isn’t slacking given how much pain it causes me. But it means I’m going slow.

Good thing the fucking contractors can’t come back to work anyway, right? Shit. Still waiting on a letter. When do I say, please give me the engineers phone number so I can talk to this person and find out if you are lying to me about yet something new.

This is seven weeks now. What the fuck.

If they were going to come back in tomorrow I’d pull a few all nighters and have the bathroom tile done in 48 hours. I could but I’d be a nightmare to live with. The most important factor in balancing all this work is my mood. How much am I going to take out on the kids in the meantime.

So I’m going sllllloooooooooooow so that I can smile and be nice during the process. It’s a good thing.

I’d like to see how nice you’d be doing this work if you felt like someone was holding a burning hot fireplace poker on your elbow all day long.

I need a god damn break from pinchy work.

I don’t get it yet. Not this week. Not next week.

I want to hurry up and finish so I can have at least a week off before my date with my submissive. I won’t be very effective as a sadist if my arms hurt this badly. It’ll be 100% kicking and whereas that’s fun… it’s not the same.

I got eight hours of sleep. I’m glad. I just wish my back hurt less. Whinge.

Deep breathe, deep breathe, deep breathe. You picked this project, Krissy. You could have had an easy, normal looking bathroom with no pinchy work at all. No complaints. This is a choice. This is something you are insisting on when it isn’t easier for other people. Just suck up the consequences. It’ll end. Then you’ll get to keep the work forever.

It makes such a difference knowing that this is art I will keep forever.

Just keep pinching pinching pinching just keep pinching pinching pinching. It will end.

I sorta feel like I want to get dressed, put my running shoes on and go running. I don’t feel like I want to get started medicating for the day.

My lungs are so pissed.

I’m at the point where I feel like I am breathing through a layer of film that must pop like a soap bubble before the air gets through. I need a break. A many many month break.

Ok, I’ll try Gabapentin.

How do you learn to cause less harm to yourself? I don’t know for sure but I’m trying.

I no longer spend a lot of time cutting myself. Is that progress? Now I’m just taking my pre-damaged lungs (growing up with heavy smokers is bad for you) and hurting them more so that my behavior is more under control. It’s like being an adult, right?

I could hurt my arms for a while listing all the various kind of pain I feel right now.

Instead I notice that my heart feels light. Even the thing I’m mad about isn’t actually a big thing. I need to change some of my behaviors to change how that occurs and then there isn’t anything left to be mad about.

Right this minute almost anything seems possible. I don’t know what the future will bring but I’m fucking privileged as all hell. It’s going to be a nice future. There was a line in my life. Before I passed that line I had no reason to believe the future would be any better than the past and the past was pure shit. I have crossed that line. I’m not sure when. I’m not sure if it was teaching. I don’t think it was marrying Noah. I think it actually happened before that and I didn’t notice. I think it happened when I got my first job making more than $50,000/year. It may even have been when I got my first accident settlement check at 18. I was no longer dependent or scared in the same way. I had a future.

At 34 I feel more excited about my future than I ever have. I am going to do incredible things. I am going to go out and talk to thousands of people. I’m going to figure out stuff about incest that people don’t know yet. I’m going to help turn this into a picture people can actually look at and understand.

I believe that. That belief gives me a lot of strength and confidence to go through all the steps between now and then.

Gardening is part of it. I need to learn patience for letting things come up in their own time. I need to learn that every part of the growth cycle has a season and you can’t rush things. Not really. You can force growth artificially for a short time and then you have problems. Early death, deformity, disease.

Talking about incest is going to be like that. If I try to force people who aren’t ready I will damage them badly with my selfishness. I need to figure out what these cycles look like and it is hard knowing that I won’t figure it out until I hurt people. I won’t figure it out until it is too late to do it right the first ten times. But hopefully by the eleventh time I will be less of a fucker.

I need this time with the kids. I need to watch what growing independence looks like within the framework of healthy attachment.

Ok, sometimes I worry that we are overly enmeshed instead of healthily attached. I can’t tell. The thing I’m hanging my hat on is: no one here feels very responsible for the feelings of the people around them. We hang out together all the forking time but we all spin in our own little orbits. We talk about “My body is feeling like ___ so my emotions are doing ____ and I’m not reacting to your tone of voice. Sorry I’m being like this.”

There is so little blame in this house for bad days. I mean, sometimes someone gets mad because someone else did something… but even that doesn’t hit a fevered pitch. I am the one who comes down the heaviest on that kind of thing and I get over things quickly. I get flamingly angry at my kids, communicate why I’m so pissed, then it goes away.

My kids know that breaking rules and fucking up is part of life. They know that you must do these things in order to grow and develop. They also know that dealing with the fact that sometimes your fuck ups piss people off is part of life. How to manage that? You are never obsequious. You never act like you are wrong. You say, “Wow I screwed up. I shouldn’t have done that.” Then you explain in motherfucking detail what you should have done instead. Then, try again.

When my kids get upset and yell something like, “I screwed up” I say, “Yay! What did you learn from this?”

Every screw up has the chance to teach you more than doing it right in the first place. What did you learn?

“What a wonderful opportunity to learn you have now. What can we get out of this situation?”

I love my job. I love my life. I am so grateful that I have the privilege to sit around helping my kids learn how to deal with a complicated world. This is my dream come true.

No, Noah, I have no desire to blow up my life. I am exactly where I want to be.

I just… sometimes want to sneak out to see other people. Or not sneak out. Walk out proudly with hugs and kisses and “I’ll see you soon!” exchanged all around.

It’s different this time than ever before. Even when I went hunting and I found Muse four years ago it was different.

I don’t feel as ashamed any more. I think that part of it is that in the past when I was hunting for new sexual partners there was always this haze over every interaction where I knew the person was probably going to be gone after a night or at most a week. I didn’t have faith that most of my efforts were improving my life long term. I was getting through the night.

At this point I don’t need help getting through a night. I don’t need a place to sleep. I don’t need someone else to buy me food so I can eat today.

Now what I am doing is finding myself intently interested in people who are already part of my soul. I want to know them in ways I haven’t before because I found capacity in myself to love more parts of them than I originally believed I had bandwidth to accomplish.

It doesn’t feel like hunting in the same way. I don’t feel shameful. I feel really happy. I’m scared I will hurt my friends because I don’t have enough to offer. I’m scared that I will not be good at long term balancing the emotional needs of people I care about and I will cause a lot of unnecessary pain.

The only thing I can do is my best. I can try to bring my whole heart with me from interaction to interaction and give the best I have to give in any given moment. If someone feels that what I have to offer is inadequate, they can check out. But I’m not sure I should hide at home because I’m afraid I’m not good enough.

For so long I have felt like such a tiny sliver of myself… I need that to change. I’m a lot of things.

I’m not getting this with the folks I’m pursuing right now because they already know me, but when I talk t brand new people there is this series of things that happen. It is a huge ego boost. There is always that getting to know you period. Asking questions. Have you done ___? Do you like _____?

At the end of this kind of exchange I always have to either carefully edit and not say even a small fraction of my actual lifetime experiences or I answer everything honestly and fully and by the end their jaw is hanging open and they say something very similar to, “You actually did all that?”

Yes.

I’ve received this reaction in dozens of states and in a handful of countries so far. Yup. I did all that. And I’m not done.

I have so many adventures ahead of me it is unreal. Why? Because I’m lucky. Because I spend so much time being scared that the adventures aren’t a hard jump.

Right this minute I don’t feel scared. I’m in pain physically but emotionally I just feel happy. The next few months of my life are going to be glorious.

I’ll miss Pam. She is running off to her own adventures. I’ll call and keep in touch. I love you so much.

What did B & K say? Have fun. Play safe. Come back. Tell stories.

Today and tomorrow are tile, tile, tile, tile, martial arts.

Friday I get to go out with the Professor. He is taking me bra shopping. That was something he wanted to do before I told him I was uhm interested in him. See, I have lovely friends. It is my belated Christmas present.

Saturday and Sunday get tile. Tuesday gets a visit to the clinic for STD testing. LIKE A RESPONSIBLE SLUT, OK?! All of next week Noah is on vacation. The kids are in spring break camps. So we are going to be spending 2 hours each morning playing and fucking because we can in our house, loudly, with no one to notice. (One forking kid only wanted a half day camp. WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?!) Then I get to pick up a kid at lunch. We are going to spend the early afternoon at the park waiting for the other sibling to get out of camp. It’ll be date time. That is important. Then I get to come home in the afternoons and evenings and do tile. Ahh fun.

Next Friday is another Dark Garden fitting. I’ve done one mock up fitting for the corset dress (she wanted to nip the waist in another inch). I think this is the second mock up and then they start on the actual dress.

When I was called for the appointment the nice gal had a hard time asking me to make a payment towards the total. It must really suck having a job where you have to ask people to give you tons of money for fancy artisan work. I’m sure they get a lot of pushback.

Hey, I’m forking over so much money it is obscene because I think the nice folks who live in San Francisco and hand make clothing deserve a living wage. Could I get cheaper clothing? Yes. It wouldn’t be handmade by people I know. It wouldn’t be custom made to my exact specifications and weird measurements.

I’m going to wear this as my fancy-occasion dress for the rest of my life. I don’t care if you’ve seen it I don’t care I don’t care.

For the record: the corset dress is the foundation garment. There is an over dress that looks more civilized.

But the corset dress is the one people will be carefully peeling me out of for sex and that part is so hot I can barely breathe.

Goodness I like being undressed.

I like being dressed up too. That is something I miss about my Owner. He had strong preferences about how I should look so he gave me a lot of feedback. I liked that part. I liked feeling like I knew how to please him.

Noah… Noah is best pleased if I’m nearby and paying attention to him. Trappings are kinda not noticed. So I just don’t bother much any more. I notice the impact that has on making me feel boring. Complicated.

I’d really really really like to have the tile done by the 3rd of April so I can rest. That isn’t a full week of rest before the parties I want to go to but it might be the best I can do. Ok. Now I feel more motivated to hurry up. Maybe I’ll get a wall done today.

First: running shoes. I’m antsy and my legs feel like they desperately need to move.

I love you all, even those I don’t. (Thank you R, for one of the best phrases I’ve ever head in my whole life.)

Feeling more complete

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At the conclusion of Cranky Day I went up to Wicked Grounds and had dinner with two wonderful women. We had a great conversation. I felt seen. I felt like I had friends. I felt like I know these peoples stories and they know mine and they want to know more. I know I want to know more about them.

It isn’t just about hunting. It is about needing something bigger than a four person nucleus family with a babysitter.

My submissive walked in, surprised to see me, on a date. I was tactful I think. Barely grabby enough to remind him that I can but not stepping on the toes of his date. I think. I hope. *cross fingers* (No complaints from him.)

I think it is funny how I’m kinda putting people in boxes they didn’t ask to be put in. I don’t know if those are boxes they want to be in.

I am sorta doing with my submissive an intensified, deeper, adult, more intimate version of what I barely hinted at with my best friend in junior high. My poor best friend. I spent so much time hitting him. He told me that it didn’t hurt that much and clearly I needed to be hitting someone so it was ok. But I never kissed him. I never got even close to being sexual with him. That was completely off the table. (I actually went and stayed with this friend on the road trip. His wife is awesome and he has a darling baby boy. I’m so happy for him.)

I’ve never really soaked in wanting without hurrying up to sex. I don’t even really know how to do that. I feel like I’m signing up for the most torturous science project of my life. How does one sit with desire and coax it without indulging it completely?

I don’t know and I want to find out.

When I am grinding on your crotch and you can smell me the thing isn’t that I lack desire to fuck you.

I want to fuck you. But much more than that I want the power to decide not to fuck you. The first power like that I’ve ever really had in my life.

That’s a kind of intoxication I don’t know how to describe.

I love that I can lay on you and kiss you as much as I want to and you will gasp and moan and pant and start crying… but you won’t grab me and force me to do more than I am ready to do.

This is an utterly novel experience for me.

It is gross and creepy and yucky but I feel like the seeds of wanting this came from being a parent. I kiss my kids without escalating. But it isn’t passionate. It is loving and tender without being remotely sexual.

It really taught me a lot about the variety of love I can feel. I am curious about the extent of that variety in a way I was not before having children. How many ways can I love?

Am I physically capable of passion without hurrying to get it over with?

And it will be complicated to figure out the dynamic of pain and tenderness. When I say that I haven’t really dominated you in the past, the tenderness is a huge chunk of what I mean. I have tried very hard to give you the kind of pain I thought you wanted. I wasn’t there just being selfish. I like that kind of play and I thought you only wanted a specific thing from me.

If what you want is to do what I want, then this is going to be a whole lot more gentle. Because you don’t understand what I want as much as you think you do. Yes, I want to hurt you. I’m going to fuck you up severely. But that will be like 10% of our relationship.

I’ve watched you for a decade and a half. I’ve watched you be a man of integrity, honesty, character, and dedication.

Why in the world would I want to spend the majority of our time together degrading you?

Just got off the phone with my shrink. That was a lovely phone call. I gave her an update on the folks I’m pursuing. She said, “Oh I know these names.” That makes me happy. She thinks it is a good thing that I am taking my sexual satisfaction this seriously. “If this is what it takes and you can do it… do it.”

She also said that the thing I was cranky about is something we’ve discussed in therapy many many many many many many many times and yup I’ve been cranky about it for a long time. That is an accurate perception on my part. I’m not being hysterical. This is an issue.

I described my April and said, “Ok that is 0-60.”

I said, “IT IS ONLY ON 3 DAYS!!!!”

“Oh. But it is so much emotional intensity… it feels like a lot more than three days…”

Deep sigh.

You don’t understand. I used to do this 5-6 nights/week.

Three nights in a month doesn’t feel like 0-60 for me. And two of those nights I’ll be with the kids for most of the day anyway.

So it doesn’t represent that much time away from my normal life except in the form of lost sleep.

So it feels different to me.

I’m being real careful to catch up on sleep first.

My shrink said yeah, just use Lorazepam every night for a while. Catch up on lost sleep. Just doooo eeeet.

None of this, “But I’m overmedicated” bullshit. I’m not.

I think I have decided to try the Gabapentin. I’m scared shitless. But I seriously need a break from smoking. This is killing my lungs. Edibles are so expensive.

I would much rather give my money away than hemorrhage it on pot. Realistically: I’d rather pay chiropractors.

I’m not sure I will ever stop completely. I like it. But I don’t want to need this much of it. At this point it is hurting me.

My lungs are so pissed.

I won’t be on the computer today. K is bringing the Bonus Kids over. We haven’t had a visit in a while. I’m really happy about it.

Last night two wonderful women decided to come talk to me just because I said in a public way that I would be out of the house.

I feel so lucky.

Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for loving me.

Arms hurt. Love you so much. Bye.

Like a rubber ball

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Years ago I went to this tolerance building experience when I was a teacher. It was meant to show the kids that they don’t know who among them has it rough. It turned out I spent the weekend outing myself as having had the shittiest life any of them had ever heard of. It sucked. But one of my students told me that I am like a rubber ball. It doesn’t matter how hard life knocks me down I will get up again.

I still have the card where the kids wrote their impressions of me.

I’m thinking about that rubber ball thing cause I have big feelings this second. Good feelings. Impatient feelings. Frustrated feelings. Sad feelings.

It just depends on who I think about. I could list hundreds of feelings but my arms hurt.

Do I have the right to try and climb into peoples heads without an express invitation? Do I have the right to be pissed off about the metrics of my life? Does it matter if I have the right?

Is it really more about what one can get away with? But hey–here in California without enthusiastic consent it is rape.

What if it isn’t sex and you are just mind fucking them? Then we get into ethics which is harder to really define.

What if what you want to do is change how people see themselves? Maybe if I can get better at understanding the mechanism of helping other people like themselves I can figure out how to actually like myself?

I hope.

I’m really angry about something I can’t write about.

I want. I feel like I’m drowning. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of caring more about other peoples needs than mine.

You think this is 0-60?! The weekend I left my Owner I fucked six new people. That month? I can’t begin to remember how much sex and SM I did. I literally can’t. I have had two SM scenes and I fucked one stranger in a period of two months.

That is not 0-60.

Have you met me?!

Ok, April is looking more fun with 3 SM scenes planned and a hookup.

I still don’t think this is 0-60. No, it’s not conservative compared to normal people and yeah I am being an asshole.

I’m feeling really fucking selfish after seven years of being on duty nearly 24/7.

I actually think I get more breaks than many of the mothers I know. I’m more selfish than you. I know.

I used to get weekends off once a month. Now we have babysitting. I’m not really with them 24/7. It’s more like 20/7 and I let Noah answer their demands a lot when he’s home.

I know Noah is tired too. I know.

Fuck.

Right this second I feel petty, mean, scared and like a complete asshole.

I’ve been watching TED talks about sex, cheating, monogamy, relationships… it’s funny how this discourse has changed in my lifetime.

Three separate drives: sex, attachment, love. Yeah.

Jenny, I’m not actually that pissy about the cruise thing. I’m pissy about something else that I can’t talk about and I kinda sorta can talk about the cruise thing.

I do like me some transference.

I feel so angry with myself for being angry instead of still soaking in how nice it was to be with my submissive yesterday.

Complicated.

Why am I so angry? I can’t talk about it.

My hands hurt so much and I have so much tiling to do today that I shouldn’t be typing at all. But here I am, tracking the fucking bounces.

Kellianne tells me I should write 750 words today so I don’t lose practice as a writer. I hear that being good at things takes practice.

Fuck everything. If I just write fuck until I hit 750 does that count?

I don’t want to follow rules and I don’t want to be good and I don’t want to have to think about anyone else’s feelings.

But if I act like that this whole god damn house of cards could come tumbling down.

Is there a happy medium? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

I’m so angry.

I’m not “blow up a relationship” angry. I’m just angry. It happens. My phone says it is angry day. And something happened. Not a big thing. A small thing. A thing that doesn’t deserve any kind of blow up.

But I’m so. Fucking. Angry.

I feel ashamed. I feel small. I feel like I am going to hurt people because I do not respect their boundaries and needs.

Someone smart told me that all parents are kinda fuck ups.

I don’t know if my mom gave me her best or what she had to spare. I don’t know what I give other people. I feel like I’m short changing absolutely everyone.

I’d like to spend today in my closet crying. Instead: tile. 817 words.

Take a deep breath

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Do you know one of the things I like about what I’m doing right now? Everyone has said, “So, how is Noah doing?”

I’m being reminded from every direction that I need to keep my priorities in order. That feels like really healthy progress for me.

Also: my Christmas lights are finally down. On the first day of spring. Thank you for your work.

Enlightened self interest.

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We went to bed and had a nice long negotiation, meaning that we spent a lot of time talking as we fucked. It was so hot that I woke Noah up in the middle of the night and uhm insisted that he fuck me again. Like Now.

I don’t know what rules I’m going to be capable of following. Which means I can’t set many rules on him.

This is scarier than shit.

I want.

Holy.Fucking.Shit.

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I just got an email from my submissive that makes me feel like my heart will stop.

I didn’t know it was like that. I… thought I was just the type you liked. I didn’t know it was like that. Oh.

Oh.

Oh my.

I didn’t know that I was quite this special. I thought… I thought this was more about what you wanted instead of being about me.

Oh.

Holy. shit.

I… I’m glad I’m seeing you tomorrow. This is going to be quite a conversation.

Thank you so much for coming to my house even though I have a cat.

Oh. Holy. Fucking. Shit. This…

I set a tiny little brushfire. And now it is an inferno.

I thought…

I thought wrong.

Not fair

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I spend a lot of time worrying that what I want isn’t fair. Not to Noah, not to the people I am propositioning, not to my kids, maybe even not to me.

What is “fair”?

Noah is having some feelings about how much time I’m spending thinking about the folks I’m chasing. That is logical and reasonable. I haven’t spent much time with anyone yet. It’s mostly in my head and some IMing and letters and emails. It’s almost entirely emotional energy at this point. But he notices.

I feel like it isn’t fair that I forcefully reject the label of polyamorous because I just can’t take on being responsible for someone’s needs that way. This article reminds me that I don’t have much to offer.

The thing is… I actually do talk to my prey quite a bit. I think there is a big difference between one-offs I pick up at parties (where I usually will not even write down my email address or phone number or name: if you can remember my name to google me you can find me) and the people I…

am attached to.

Because this is love. I don’t want to call it polyamory because I have issues of my own. But this is love.

Why do I love my submissive? Because he is smart, funny, he’s a great father. I have barely met one of his children one time many many years ago in a waving from the car sort of thing (I think but I might be remembering wrong) so I’m judging from his self-descriptions.

But I know how much time he spends. I know what activities he engages in. I know how he encourages his kids to try and fail and get up again. I respect him.

Even though I disagree with some of the decisions that his personal beliefs lead him to make… I actually have respect for the fact that he has his faith and he is going to god damn act it out. It matters to him and I really respect that. I respect it when people take their faith (whatever that is) seriously.

My faith is it takes all kinds. And if we are going to all make it that will take money and help.

I love the way he has taken care of his slave. He has one of the longest term M/s relationships I know. They are so loving and considerate and caring. Being around them always makes me feel just a little bit happier that such people are in the world. I respect that they model how to talk to one another and be loving while having boundaries.

I even really respect the fact that even with ownership between them they get to do what they each need to do for their lives.

Because we are all different. We are all complicated. We all have such different needs. They show me one way of working out those different needs. They don’t switch together because that’s a complicated thing in a dynamic. But other people are different.

I can understand to some degree. I can’t switch with Noah. Sometimes that is hard. Sometimes I think it simplifies things and improves my life. I appreciate that Noah doesn’t have a strong need for me to turn on dominance with him when I’m totally not in the mood. That was hard with my Owner. He’s a very switchy person. He wanted to have ultimate control of what kind of stimulation he was getting when, but sometimes he wanted to be dominated on demand and that was serious work for me.

I have a deep, burning inner sadist but this dominance thing is different. No matter what my submissive is saying. He doesn’t know. Picture me sticking my tongue out but this is a smiley free zone.

Today I took youngest child to the penultimate ballet class of the series and I used the hour to exercise. I ran for 40 minutes then I did a bunch of crunches/push ups/planks/leg lifts/etc until I needed to get the kidlet.

I have an increasingly weird opinion of my body. Why can’t I get stronger and stay fat this isn’t fair. I do drop weight pretty fast when I start heavily exercising. I feel this awful feeling of “See. If you only cared about your looks you could be thin” and I want to scream back WATCH ME BUY 15 GALLONS OF ICE CREAM AND EAT IT ALL THIS WEEK MOTHERFUCKER I’LL SHOW YOU ‘CARES ABOUT LOOKS!”

Ahem. But I’m not sure that is actually good for my health. So I don’t know what I’m doing.

I want to be better able to ride Noah (or anyone else). So I want to get better at running. Because right now I want to do that. I’ve been having a lot of fun on top lately with Noah even though that is historically not much my thing.

Really lots has been changing about my sexual interests over the last few years. On one hand Noah is so ideal because he is up for trying anything with the merest suggestion. On the other hand I’ve kind of exhausted the things he really wants to try.

Even though people are constantly surprised that I’m not the top in the relationship… no… I like being a sexual follower. I like doing what you want to do err, but let’s be clear that is if you are in the mood to do what I like doing. Cause I’m a selfish shithead. I like being told what to do and how to do it. Even if what you like isn’t perfectly my favorite I really like that you want to tell me to do it.

So I’m in an interesting place with my submissive. He thinks I’ve been so dominant with him and I think I’ve been an incredibly perceptive service top. I say the things to you I wish someone was saying to me.

Sigh

I’m actually looking forward to Noah watching me top in a few weeks. He’s never seen me top Sarah. He’s never seen me seriously beat on anyone. I feel like… after ten years he gets to meet a whole new me.

This is terrifying and exciting at the same time.

I hope it doesn’t change how he sees me too much.

I need to review some anatomy lessons. Especially the bone structure of the face.

God I’m mean.

No marks anyone can see when you go to work. I’ll be good.

I may draw these lines with a bright red marker to remind me. And cross out the no-no areas on the body with bright red. Because I’m still learning new boundaries and it’s important I don’t fuck this up.

The amount of trust that is being placed in me, quite frankly, scares the shit out of me. Why would anyone put their physical safety in my hands like this? Why would anyone give me permission to do this much damage to their body?

Shit, why am I just about begging the Professor on my knees to be just as rough or worse with me?

Because I’m a masochist.

Because I’m a sadist.

Because I have wonderful, complimentary friends who can help take me to heights of ecstasy completely impossible in vanilla sex. I know. I’ve tried and tried and tried.

I want someone completely and totally pedantic to crawl inside my head and whisper pretty much whatever he wants because I have faith that he sees me better than I see myself and I think he will say things I should hear.

I hope my submissive trusts me for fairly similar reasons.

I know Sarah trusts me for that reason. Lots of history proving that I will tell you what you really need to get programmed into your inside voice as I cause your body to absolutely flood with chemicals so that these lessons can be beaten as deeply into your unconscious existence as possible.

You are good. You are worthy. You are strong. You are beautiful. You are so very necessary. You are wonderful. I see you. I am so happy you are here. Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for loving me. I love you. I love you. I love you.

The script varies and has different components but that’s kind of the basis of what I like to beat into people.

I don’t hit people because I want them to feel small or bad or wicked. I hit people because it is fucking hot and you are so fucking nice for letting me do this. Extra bonus points if it gets you off. I’m completely satisfied with you just enjoying it.

For me, and for some other perverts I know, bdsm is sex of the mind and the body but not necessarily of the genitals. It can involve the genitals but it doesn’t have to. It’s about the chemical experience of strong sensations in your body. It’s about the power dynamic of doing that to someone or letting someone do that to you. Submitting your body to someone else’s desires is hotter than the sun.

I mean, I think. But I’m highly sexually submissive. I just don’t do that without serious negotiation. I think those kinds of roles are things that must be highly explicitly stated. I think the expectations must be verbally agreed on or (preferably) written down so that can be reviewed as necessary.

Power exchange means permission to have expectations about how you will be treated. Without some serious verbal negotiation (or written for an ongoing relationship) it is inappropriate to get into a situation where you have serious expectations of how you will be treated.

Folks just don’t actually generally sign on for that. Not when it comes to pain play and power imbalanced relationships. Not anymore. Once upon a time such things were normal and expected but things have changed.

Now it’s abuse. If someone tries to control you or hurt you without extensively asking your permission they are an abuser and you need help.

Things change.

We have to adapt. Even if our wiring doesn’t want to. Even if we would be much more successful predators if we were more up front about our hunting.

Side note. There are many women in this world I’d like to meet and talk to. How does it feel to live in your world and have this many partners? I’m kinda a freak in my world.

I’m not sure they want to talk to me. Maybe I’ll find out some day.

You never know what might happen. Life is long.

It is weird how with every passing year I feel like I have more and more I want to do before I die. I feel so much more urgency to be busy and active and accomplish things. Shit. I might live to be as old as 80. That’s a lot of fucking time to fill. I’d better make lists. Or I’m going to be old and be pissed I wasted so much time.

Sometimes I’m quite angry with myself for how I spent my childhood. Then I try to find compassion. If I had been out trying to exercise by myself as I moved around as a child the horror stories I experienced would have been much more frequent.

It’s ok that I hid. I had good reasons. I need to stop hating myself for everything I had to do to get through hell.

It’s over. I can change now. I can do something different.

I feel guilty, Noah. I feel like I’m letting you down. I also feel like I’ve been dragging and dragging and dragging for a long time. I think you are filling my bucket with everything you have going spare.

I need a deluge from somewhere. So I have a nice safe deity lined up who will fuck me senseless and maybe eventually get around to hurting me; a nice safe Professor who will beat the shit out of me and (we’ll see); Sarah who wants me to gleefully beat on her while telling stupid jokes; and a nice submissive who wants me to make him bleed and bleed.

That’s a deluge if ever I’ve produced one. That’s a lot of energetic stuff going on.

I’ve never managed a line up that felt this intense this… instantly… before. April is going to be god damn intense.

Oh yeah, and I’ll be playing with Noah and our normal sex life will continue. Cause that’s not going to change.

I have a very hard time feeling like this is ok. But whether it is ok or not I am going to do it. Because Noah is the only person who could stop me (other than my proposed partners losing interest) and he’s… ok with it.

Maybe that’s over stating. He’s nervous right now.

I get it. I’m being a selfish bitch.

I feel like I am about to god damn explode out of this little box that my life is allowed to be. This is not all of who I am. I am big. I am so many things. I am so many people. I want so many experiences at so many intensity levels. I want all of it. I want all of you.

I’m a little surprised I managed to damn this for four years. That’s my longest stretch of monogamy in my life.

Watch the riverbanks flood. Just wait. Soon there will be so much green.

Speaking of which: I’m very happy with how the tile mosaics are coming along. As long as these people I already dislike manage to install this well… I will live in a gorgeous house. I’m a lot more talented than I thought, which is kind of funny.

I can make beautiful things. No, not perfect. No I don’t make pictures that look like photographs. But I help people feel feelings.

That’s all I’m trying to do.

Different people encourage me to look at myself in different ways. Yes, they may call me filthy names, but they also concretely say, “Let’s look at x, y, and z and talk about it objectively.”

Because the filthy names are at uhm, my request. It’s ok. It gets me off.

So the whore thing is so complicated. On one hand I want to stop having this negative thing in my head where I keep coming back to this awful place of feeling bad about who I am. On the other hand if someone is hurting me and fucking me and whispers that I’m a whore and I should come…

I will. Over. And over. And over.

I kinda don’t want to give that up just cause it isn’t pc? It is super hot.

But I want it to stop being part of my negative tape when I am having a bad day. I want to stop randomly feeling bad about myself and calling myself a whore because of it. That’s dumb.

I want to change that.

But eliminating the word whore from my life entirely isn’t it.

That would be easier. Avoiding this powder keg would be easier. But then I wouldn’t get to orgasm like that and I’m not that pc.

 

Too many words; not enough words

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Right now my head and my heart are full. I’m going around and around in circles thinking about people, relationships, needs, sustainability, balance, effort, intensity, desire.

I’m thinking about pain. I’m thinking about energy.

I’m thinking about owing people and deserving things.

I’m thinking about choices and about execution. I’m thinking about long-term, medium-term, and long-term planning.

Sometimes you have to choose to make today uncomfortable in favor of having a comfortable medium or long term.

What does it mean to love someone? What does it mean to build them up? What does it mean to tear them down? What is harm anyway?

Why do we want these things from one another. I don’t know. But I feel like I drown in want. But my wants are so complicated and contradictory…

I want. I want to feel connected and interesting and like I help people and I’m needed. Not in a “let me fix you” sort of way.

In the “my neighbor is still dropping by every few days to ask for help studying for a test” and I feel like a really good person for dropping what I’m doing to talk to her. She doesn’t have many people to talk to. She’s really nice and living far from everyone and everything she really knows. She’s a brave woman. I’m glad I can help her with keeping her independence at this stage of life for a little bit longer.

I’m not fixing her. I’m helping her develop the tools she needs to help herself.

Teaching doesn’t always go from eldest to youngest. The best teachers are children who share how they understand the world. In my jaundiced view of the world nothing beats a four year old saying, “You don’t know how to do that? (patient sigh) Here, let me show you.”

Melts my heart every time. Thank you for showing me. I will pay careful attention. Thank you for sharing your wisdom with me.

I will never have a four year old again. My sadness is epic. But only in that teenage bummer kind of way. Frankly, I’m already like “How about if we have a few years of going away to college? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

I honestly hope they will boomerang. But a few years of break from being mommy before a transition to figuring out cohousing as adults would be awesome.

So I can say things like, “Can you go stay at a friend’s house for the whole weekend? Thanks!”

Too many words to say. Hands hurt. Must lay tile later. Bye y’all.

Ooof

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I just spent a while getting honest with Mint. If we want to come out even at the end of the year… I’m going to have to figure out how to… change what we are doing.

I feel guilty about it, but we probably aren’t going to sign up for more for-pay classes this year. Medical stuff needs to be… more budgeted. We are going to eat some rice and beans and slow down how fast we are going through the meat in the freezer.

If I’m careful, by the end of the year everything will be back where I want it to be. If I’m not careful I could fuck us for several years. This remodel is becoming problematic. First of all: the contract ended up not including *anything* other than labor. (That was uhm, not clear to me till well into it.) And I’m paying the lawyer a bunch. And. And.

Deep breath.

I feel like an asshole but I’m going to slow down (not stop) my charitable giving. I’m going to keep my steady list and catch up my bank account. When I no longer worry about wiping out my bank account with an unaware credit card auto-pay then I’ll make up what I am supposed to give for the whole year.

I like auto-pay. It keeps me out of trouble. Right now… I can’t pay off my credit cards. That scares me. It’ll be fine. They will be paid off in May. But…

Eeek.

And my remodeling company called me last night and told us they don’t need to follow the law, it’s only a $250 fine.

Tomorrow, when I have time, it’s time to involve the state licensing board. Enough shenanigans. I gave them enough rope and now it’s time to hang ’em.

We aren’t going to negligently break the law all over my construction project in my name.

Nope.

There’s nothing to be frustrated about. Geez why are you over reacting.

I’m just like that.

Tile work made progress yesterday. As I’m doing my lay out it occurs to me…. I don’t think I’m leaving enough room between tiles for grout. Shucks. I think I need to go get some tile spacers so I have an actual idea of how much room to leave. Right now I’m pretty sure I will do it wrong and in this complicated of an art piece it will seriously matter. That said.. the tree is stunning so far.

I’m doing wavy lines of different styles of brown/gold/copper tiles for the trunk. It’s really gorgeous. Some of the tile lines are uniform and some are variable and both together look so pretty. Because I want it to be wider at the bottom, I’m trying to figure out how to get a whorl in the trunk. I want to see movement and change. I want to see how life forces you to adapt to what is rather than getting what you want all the time.

The leaves are going to be these gorgeous gold stones. Ok, square leaves, but whatever. They will be pretty. At the end of branches. Surrounded by blue tiles for sky. But just a little blue peeking through because it’s a dense tree on the edge of a forest.

There are going to be fall flowers among grass and bushes.

Shit. I’m going to need to order more tile at this rate.

This bathroom project is going to be about $140,000 because I picked the wrong damn contractors. I’m so mad at myself. This is my fault.

I feel kinda weird and bad about the fact that I can absorb that loss.

I should get ready for today.

I married the right man

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Noah is hawt. Like, ridiculously meltingly hot. I say this because he woke up when I came back from my middle of the night pause and we started talking and then of course we had to have sex cause that’s pretty much how we work when we are alone in a room talking.

Sigh.

This was an unusually good conversation. Noah was very brave telling me about things he is interested in. Most of the sex was narrated by how he would hunt this person in his life. (Whoa. That man has words.) We would giggle at moments when “Oh that would totally work” and strategize “what if x happened at y juncture?”

Not many lovers of mine have been happy to do this. Usually it creeps people out.

I’m all, tell me tell me tell me how you bang other people. Pleeeeeeeeeeease.

But no. Sigh. What is up with you bastards not wanting to kiss and tell? That shit’s lame.

It is nice when Noah feels comfortable telling me stuff because I know he is insecure. I know he’s really scared. I know this, as he tells me, because he thinks that the way to manage his insecurity about me leaving is to ensure that I have a deal so good I won’t leave. This is a situation where his insecurity is very much to my benefit. Which is mixed.

I need to not take it for granted that he is more insecure than me so it is ok to be an asshole. He has limits too.

We talked about the ups and downs of my sex drive and managing it. Breeding has been rough. We talked about what we want and need.

It is kind of tricky that I fill most of Noah’s needs. But I have a lot of needs he… really isn’t up for. It makes sense. No one should ever be hit unless they want to be hit. No one should ever allow themselves to be degraded unless they choose it.

And frankly, it is sometimes hard that Noah wants to transition from bdsm to sex so fast. My body doesn’t process the separate experiences as one very well. I get really overwhelmed and freak out and have to stop everything.

I like rough sex. I like bdsm. I like doing a scene and then having sex. I don’t like doing scene-level-playing in the middle of fucking as much. That’s hard for me. Being hit involves a lot of bracing. Fucking is a lot of taking in. I can’t do both at once.

I can fuck someone else and beat the shit out of them, so I get the appeal of that. But if I’m getting fucked and beaten, no.

I keep having this thought bubble up in my consciousness every so often… two people are having blood testing done this week so we can do blood play. You really don’t know how hot that is to me. I haven’t actually done that much blood play. I’m kinda shocked that it is coming up so fast in these ways. But thrilled! It’s been a long time!

My previous lifetime hardest biting experience was when I was young and stupid. I didn’t understand how much power a jaw had. I was fifteen. I was going to Rocky Horror Picture Show and doing my best to do the whole cast. (I totally failed. Most were wise enough to not fuck minors.) One of the cast members liked to walk the line pre-show and bite the necks of virgins. I told him that he had to let me bite him back.

Oh. Apparently you have to be careful. Whoops.

I have only made one other person drop to their knees that fast in my life and it was on purpose the second time.

A bloodcurdling scream of fear and pain combined with iron in my mouth. I got very little blood, but I nicked him. He was a guy in his 30’s? I think he was uhm, not expecting that. When I pulled back he looked at me like I might be a rabid dog. Then he shook everywhere and said, “hot.”

I have not since bit someone hard enough to draw blood. I felt super weird and bad. At this point I am looking forward to biting someone until they bleed. Things change.

And he’s self conscious about his bruises in the locker room. Well isn’t that sweet. You might want to get some bike tights honey so you can put your regular pants on over them to not show off the marks. You may be colorful for a whole long time to come.

I have a whole lot of want-to-hurt built up in me.

I’m really looking forward to playing with Sarah again. As she points out, we haven’t played since before the bad house-break-up. That time was a bit strained. It’s going to be really nice to make more good memories about how much fun we have playing together. We giggle and laugh and tell the stupidest jokes you can imagine in between me pounding her. It is joyous.

Every masochist is different. I am not like Sarah. I do not giggle and wiggle and laugh when I’m hit. I go for catharsis. I go for suffering. I go to sob like a snot nosed little kid. I go to get out the internal pain I can’t get out other ways.

Sarah can play darker too, but it isn’t our style together.

Together we are kinda like when Pippi Longstocking and Lyra Silvertongue grow up and have really rough sex. Over the top lies and silly stories and but but… you’ve just gotta.

It’s so much fun.

I’m feeling really guilty about the amount of complaining I did about my female friends yesterday. I feel like I’m being ungrateful.

You all give me what you have going spare. It really isn’t your fault that I am a bottomless pit.

I really like talking to the same people many many many days in a row. Months if I can swing it. Not many women have space like that for me in their lives. I know a number of men who do. I have a fairly isolated life, but I am a deeply communal person. I just have issues living communally because I’m a highly traumatized person with all kinds of baggage.

I am so fucking annoying.

Sarah, Pam, K, & J are the women who have gone through intense periods of contact with me over the last few years. They are all busy. They can’t center their lives around me. I’m not mad. I’m just lonely.

I don’t think these guys are going to center their lives around me. But they have more bandwidth for talking to me right now.

I’m at this point where I recognize that I just literally can never resume the driving schedule I had. It is too hard on my body. I know some people handle it fine–great for you. We have different bodies.

My closest friends are totally GU (Geographically Undesirable) but I love them anyway.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what love means. I love a lot of people. I love messily and chaotically and devotedly and absentmindedly. I tend to love forever. It’s a lot of why I’m not always graceful after breakups. I still want you. Even if I broke up with you because of 3,562 incompatibilities, I still want you.

I wish I never had to give anyone up. But I’m usually the one who ends relationships because I’m ready to change some aspect of myself and other than Noah I have never experienced other people to be all that supportive of change. People don’t want to change how they treat you or think of you. In order to get them to do so you have to go off and change while they aren’t looking and come back so demonstrably different and demanding about it that they have to change.

This is why I can’t move to Portland. Too many people I met at 19. This last visit was extraordinary in that they are finally recognizing that I have changed… but shit dude it has been 15 years and I’ve been different in stages all the time. They are just now being dragged into not being able to avoid seeing that I am different.

Ugh.

This one dude… at a munch when I was 19… he tried to pull my top off. In his defense my shirt said something horrible like, “If I’m still wearing this shirt you aren’t doing your job” but still! We were in a coffee shop!

He finally knows not to touch me without permission. 15 fucking years later.

I have to believe that consent is the beginning and the end of “what is ok”. If people can agree to doing something it is ok. By definition. Doesn’t matter how other people feel about it.

If I want to ask the Professor to find all the darkest stuff he’s been hoarding up for a long time and use it up on me, and my husband is ok with it and the Professor says yes… it is ok.

Even if I feel squishy and weird and a little weird and guilty/ashamed about flipping the dynamic of our relationship so entirely so suddenly. For him it came out of nowhere. Naw, I was thinking it for a while. I just… don’t know how to bring it up till I throw a brick at your head. Hi! I’m charming!

I gotta say though, bringing it up with the Professor was more tactfully done than with Daddy. With Daddy I was crude as hell and “I want ___” and his response was, “Aren’t you sweet. No. Well, maybe. If I have time on a random day but you have to ask 24 hours in advance and the answer will probably be no.”

I’m really happy Daddy is doing so well. I don’t begrudge him an instant of this contentment. Yay him.

Just like I’m really happy when my female friends are doing well in their lives and they don’t have much time for me.

Always more fish in the sea. Seven billion people. I can get someone to talk to me.

I think… today I might be able to nap. Poor Noah. He has to go to work after being up all night fucking. Let’s all dig deep and find some pity for him. heh

He got about six hours of sleep. I got four. I will putter with tile, sit still, and take a nap today. Seems wise.

I had a brilliant idea. Noah and the kids are going to a comic book convention this weekend. So I asked Noah if he is ok with me asking my submissive to come over and help with chores. He said that was ok. Yay! I get manual labor! I’m going to have a list. Spanking won’t be on it.

The more work we get done in the two hours you have available the more rest I will be able to get before our date in a few weeks. You want that to happen. Let’s be productive.

I’ll keep doing chores after he leaves. Cause I’m compulsive like that. Because I have a lot of stuff I want done. If I have a day off from the kids I rarely rest. I work like a fiend because then they aren’t undoing my progress as I go and it is intensely more satisfying.

Unschooling is fucking work. I do the hard work to teach the kids how to do most of what I need to get done in life. How to organize, clean, be responsible, track what is going on, plan for the future.

They are incredible already.

But doing it myself can take four hours. Doing it with them takes two weeks. I’m tired.

Breakfast!

hella weird.

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Do you know what is hella weird? Asking for permission to write about people you hope to fuck. Then writing about them. Then going around and checking in, “Ok, did I step on any toes?”

It is… hilarious and totally worth the feelings of awkwardness. Know why? I have better sex partially because the people who want to fuck me are willing to do a lot of homework. I communicate a lot of things in writing I have trouble getting around to saying. Also: when I’m talking to myself I’ll admit things I won’t say right to a person. Because I’m kind of a passive aggressive douche. Yeah, I know.

Professor, you reacted with surprise when I said I’d been considering this for a while. I actually thought about it before your last relationship ended. Things seemed really rocky for you so I decided it really wasn’t worth bringing up with Noah.

There. I said it.

I don’t know what makes the damn break when it does. All I know is that when it does there is so much pent up it is a deluge.

Glorious day

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I got eight hours of sleep again! I finished cleaning up the tile piles in the garage! I need to go get approximately a whole palette of double sided tape and I’m ready to rock and roll.

If only my contracting company had decided to start getting an engineering letter promptly instead of waiting. It’s been 37 days. I think it is time to write to the state board.

Well, given how expensive my contract is it looks like they are going to take me seriously. Shit

Maybe. God I don’t want to escalate. This sucks.

I am… other than the remodel… doing really pretty ok. The kids and I are having some interesting tiffs lately. The kids are doing normal, appropriate testing of limits and boundaries. So of course sometimes I get mad.

The thing that makes me want to scream and scream and scream (I don’t…but I want to) is when a kid does something and lies and claims the other did it.

Oh that’s a problem for me.

The kids are finding it easier to lie to Noah. I say, “Oh wait. When kid does ___ it means you are lying.” GLARING FACE.

Kid melts like ice cream, “Ok you’re right.”

At bed time I told my kids, “Don’t feel bad about it. I couldn’t lie effectively to my mom until I was much older than you are now. Moms know you. It’s hard to lie to moms.” Then I got a big hug. I was asked if I could forgive them.

Already forgiven.

I think I forgave you for everything you could ever do wrong on the day you were born. Well, you can’t kill anyone. Uhm, at least not without good reason.

You are my flesh and blood. I never understood what that meant to people until you. I will forgive you anything. I just want to be near you. I love you.

And let’s be clear that on a 1-10 scale of life fuck ups, I don’t think you’ve hit a 3 yet.

But blaming someone else for your misdeeds…. that makes me cranky. Don’t do that.

If you fuck up you take the heat. Every time. Forever. Notice how I have to? That’s what being a grown up means.

I actually think I do a good job of modeling accepting responsibility for when you fuck up and for saying, “Nope this is not my fault.”

I think both are important.

I feel like I don’t know what I want from the future other than lots of time lying in the sunshine in the back yard having sex with Noah. That’s most of why I obsessively garden. Someday my kids will be gone for long periods of time. Then we can have sex in my beautiful garden. I’ve been working on this for like seven years now. It isn’t done yet. In 5-10 more years it is going to be fantastically beautiful.

When I lived at Auntie’s house in the mountains I had to walk to the bus stop. On the route was this beautiful little garden tucked right next to the road. An elderly couple lived there and this garden was the wife’s labor of love. She had been building it most of her adult life. I loved that garden. I would leave early for school and get home late because I spent so much time dawdling in that garden. I would lie on the ground and look around me at the profusion of life, color, and happiness.

I want that. I want to share that with Noah. He really likes the home I’m making.

Not long ago I was on the train and I was speaking with a woman who had never ridden public transit before. She was a career lady. She asked what I did. For no reason that I know of I responded, “Oh I’m a home maker.” (Did I say house wife? I think I said home maker. I’m already forgetting.)

She stopped cold. Stared at me. Then said through pursed lips, “I have not heard a woman refer to herself that way in a long time.”

Clearly thinking I shouldn’t be doing so now. BAD FOR FEMINISM!!

But uhm… that’s the easiest description for what I do.

I homeschool my kids. But we are unschooling so mostly what I’m doing is setting up a really interesting, diverse environment and trying to not get pissy when they wreck it trying to find the boundaries. Mostly I build their home for them.

I do a lot of chores around the house, sure, but I don’t do all of them. I’m not the cook. I make the kids do more and more of their own labor (I don’t fold kid laundry any more; they clean their rooms; etc). I make it so Noah comes home to a home instead of a house.

I know what this place was like when I moved in here. He’d lived here for a while with lots of roommates. The roommates were often fine people, but they left here when they wanted a home.

Noah doesn’t change his environment beyond what is absolutely mandatory.

I make a home.

But he does dishes and if I’m folding laundry when he’s home he helps and he vacuums and lots of other stuff.

I’m looking forward to late summer around here. It’s going to feel like ascending to the top of a victorious mountain. We have worked like fiends for ten years. What has it produced? I’m so happy with our life. I kinda wish I didn’t have such a fierce need to beat people, but I do have it.

I’m seriously wondering how the hunting is going to impact my pot usage. Bdsm does a lot to calm me down. It exercises through all the hormones that can become problematic stewing in my brain. I get catharsis. I get to move through things so much faster. My usage isn’t down very much yet, but hunting is still in the scary stage.

I still don’t know who will like me in three months.

My submissive wants to have dinner more often. That will be easier when Pam is gone and when we don’t have classes 5 nights a week. I can’t do it yet. Not that I’m looking forward to losing Pam–I’m not. But I don’t like having too many days a week booked and she’s been parked on one night a week for a gloriously long time. I’ve been very happy to pick that standing date over lots of other shorter term more rare options. That kind of continuity feeds my soul. It gives me a chance to work through bumps and complications and hard stuff. Because she keeps coming back. So when I have a week I’m freaking out, next week we can process it. It’s not like I have to be super careful to be on my best behavior like with other people because I only see most people once or twice a year and if I freak out at them… they may never want to come back.

Pam has given me so much love, support, consistency, and help. I’m not going to be happy to see her go.

But I will have a free night a week.

Noah and I have been talking, “Does one date a month mean one date per person you are dating (which is a way to set it up to game the system) or does it mean one date per month?”

Honestly probably somewhere in between.

I don’t know yet. Oh god. So far I’ve kept it to one a month. One in February. One in March. One in April. That’s my submissive, the Professor, then the deity. One party in March. Two parties in April. I wish they weren’t on consecutive nights. But that means I’m laying low every other weekend in April. In May I am going to a grief ritual retreat.

My spring is awesome.

The increased sleep is a combination of Lorazepam and “I have to hurry up and go to sleep because then I can wake up and talk to interesting people.”

Between Noah in the house and the folks I’m talking to online, I don’t feel as lonely all of a sudden. It’s ok that my women friends mostly don’t reach out. They wait for me to initiate. But right now there are folks who are popping up to talk to me.

I feel a lot less lonely.

I feel a lot less invisible. This is why I don’t chase women harder. Because I always end up doing so much chasing that it becomes really demoralizing. I feel like men have fewer options for people who want to pay as much attention as I do and they are more interested in receiving it. I wear women the fuck out and they pull back and back and back trying to get space to recoup. Then I stop chasing.

It hurts.

I am sorry I am so hard.

I keep a fairly clean inbox. I don’t like letting coupons or mailing list shit sit in my inbox. I make it go away. In the last 50 emails, exactly 3 women are represented. Pam, who is usually negotiating about what she needs to bring so she can come to my house and cook me dinner, Sarah, and a friend who wants help looking at her resume.

I don’t think I chase women less hard because I’m not interested. I think women are hard to chase.

Completely random change of topic: we are finally going to the local homeschool book club. I’m nervous because the kids are 9-14. My kids are 5 & 7. But you have to start somewhere. The book is Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nihm and that seems like a fun way to jump in. It’s an hour long discussion 3.5 miles from our house. We should go.

Do you know why it is easier to pay attention to men? Men act like I’m interesting. Women want me to be interested in them. I mean, I am. But I don’t feel like other women (Pam and Sarah being huge exceptions) find me very interesting. Which is weird because I know I have blog readers who have been here for years.

But you are kinda invisible, you know?

Dudes come and bang on my SMS windows and say, “Hey I want to talk to you.” I promise you that less than 20% of what we talk about is directly arranging sex. We talk about life. They bitch at me and listen to me bitch about whatever is going on.

I have a hard time doing that with women. I overwhelm the fuck out of them and I’m not sure why. I try with women. I can get into patterns that last a few months. Then they get busy and tired.

I know it is partially that I’m at a phase where I really can’t go meet up with people in a neutral location or at their house all the time. That has been most of my social life most of my life. I can’t right now. Not mentally, emotionally, or physically.

It’s so much work. And I have so much work right here making this home.

I’m not really complaining about the work. I choose the work. I’m having fun. It is going to be hard to stop painting at the end of the remodel because there is so much painting I want to do in the house.

Some day my kitchen will be full of colorful flowers and twining vines. It will feel like being encased in a jungle of growth. Me being me, there may be fake and real plants put up near the ceiling eventually. It would be cool to have fake plants stapled to the ceiling and real plants hanging down.

Yeah. No one will mistake me for someone with classic good taste. Ha. No neutrals here. No tasteful expensive art purchased because society says this bozo is important.

I wanna see what I wanna see.

I’m tired of living in cold austerity and severity. I hate white walls. I hate flat surfaces. I don’t want mass market ugly ugly ugly ugly “this is just what people live in” environment. I can’t do it.

I need something different.

Trump needs to lose because I don’t want to move. My house is almost where I want it. My hard work is paying off.

Past Me, well done.

The last time this house was painted was the summer after I moved in. So nine years ago. These colors have been fun, but the teenagers mostly did a shitty job. Ha. I need to slow down on big projects. Which means I really can’t take on another room any time soon. What if I did one wall at a time over a week or two? That would be a much more sane pace of work…

Just stop, Krissy.

But but but… art… pretty…. happiness… hate the ceiling in my kitchen cause there is a horrible white splotch where the old lighting fixture used to be…

The bathrooms will be seasons. The kids say the play room should become a jungle. I am… anticipating fun.

I want to do it slowly. So realistically the spring party won’t happen until the end of May. ha.

That’s ok. I’m pretty busy between now and then.

Do you know why I love country music so much? Because of lyrics like: “If you’re going through hell, keep on going. Face that fire; if you’re scared don’t show it. You might get out before the devil even knows you’re there.”

That’s an awful lot of how I get through life. If something is hard, I put my head down and just push on. That’s how I got through the marathon (whining and griping the whole way with my beautiful, wonderful friend coaxing me on–see, a woman who shows up for me–notice how I fly up to see her!?). That’s how I got through the road trip (whining and griping the whole way with my wonderful beautiful kids coaxing me on–see, girls(kids) who show up for me). This cycle of work really isn’t that hard.

Ok, I hate my contractor. But it isn’t even a school semester. Shuddup and get it done.

I’m scared that I need to make sure there is a chaperone at meetings from now on. He really has to stop touching me or I’m going to flip.

Him being bad at his job sucks. The fact that he keeps calling me “my dear” and touching me when I say stop… I’m going to go postal.

What am I doing with my anger over this situation? I’m trying to strategize so I get my way and I stay out of jail. Seems prudent.

And I’m distracting myself with sex with Noah and talking to other people. It’s fun.

Knock, knock knock

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I was asked what doors I’m knocking on. I think that being as transparent as a piece of glass will save a whole lot of trouble down the line about misunderstood motives or impulses. Realistically, I figure out my motivations when I write them down and hope that I don’t piss people off too much in the process.

My submissive wants me to write more about him. He also thinks I don’t need to respect his privacy quite so much. Good to know. I went knocking on his door first. He has been in my life for about fifteen years. Primarily he has been my friend and not my submissive. He says I have spent more time dominating him than I think. I think he should wait six months and reevaluate that opinion.

Why him? Why now? I don’t know. Because for the past few years I have had a terrible need to get out kinetic energy in fierce ways and I have never in my life play with someone who swayed into my need to hit with such intensity?

He wants to make me feel better and if hitting him will do that, please oh please. It helps that he is one of the most intense masochists I’ve ever known. We are going to run into my limits as a sadist before we run into his limits as a masochist.

That’s a kind of freedom I don’t know how to describe for me. I spend my whole life being too much. Being too scary and intense and bad. I’m not for him.

He asked what to call me. Well I ain’t a fucking goddess or queen. Get that straight the fuck out of your head. Ugh. And I’m not a domme. I can’t stand that.

What am I?

I’m Krissy. But I want to control the shit out of a very small part of your soul. What does that mean? I don’t know yet. I’m going to get more… invasive over time. My encroachments will be very slow. They will come in inches and millimeters until you notice that I’ve covered a tremendous amount of ground and holy shit how did I get there.

I want to boil you alive.

I want to find out what it means to do that.

Given what he’s writing I’m not sure I am going to be able to be as intense as his fantasies. We’ll see.

Wait, Princess? You want to call me Princess? Ok that’s kind of hilarious. I’ll consider it.

Why do I want this with him so badly right now? Part of it is the fact that he has patiently waited, while indicating interest in the most subtle and non-forceful of ways for over a decade. He’s not a stalker. He’s not entitled. He’s not pushy. He just… lets me know he’s interested. I don’t feel threatened. I don’t feel like I need to be prepared to defend myself. I feel safe and I feel like it is safe to be parts of myself I otherwise have to keep under lock and key. I feel like it is a rare and wonderful thing that I have the talents I have, that I can make people happy the way I can.

Why not any other submissive, ever? Because. Because clearly, he doesn’t need me to take over to fix his problems. His life is fine. He’s doing great. Because he has done a really high amount of Emotional Labor with no promise of ever getting anything back. He gives because he wants to. Because he thinks I deserve it.

Noah does a lot for me. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. It’s a very different kind of care and labor and consideration. Noah will not suffer for me to take away some of my suffering. That’s not our dynamic and I’m happy about that. That’s not what I want with Noah.

Why do I need this relationship to be stone? That is weighing on my soul. I feel really mixed about wanting to play with him and deny him sex. I know he likes having sex with me. We’ve been on/off lovers for a long time.

I just need it. I need to have something really intense and really important… without my cunt. I know I’ve been doing that with friendships over the last few years, but they’ve all been at arms length. They’ve all been carefully chaperoned and supervised and controlled. I need to control myself in this way when I’m engaged in play. I need to. I need to feel that sadism not part of being fucked partially because being fucked is such a different experience.

The second door I went knocking on was one of my Daddy’s. He’s like way Top 5 so if I have a hunting license he’s going to be on the list forever. Unfortunately for me, fortunately for him, his love life is going very well and he doesn’t have much time for me. Maybe someday I’ll be driving by at the right time and I’ll get to bang him but… the chances are slim. I’m happy to just have permission again. He has been in my life for twelve years. Why do I come back to him? Because when I am in his presence he makes sure that he lets me know that he knows me and that he loves me in all my complexity. He was the first person to teach me to eat English muffins and blueberry jam. I have quite a soft spot for him. He was the first man I was ever involved with who cooked for me regularly.

I don’t have permission to write about the third yet. I will ask.

Number four is a sweet french vanilla deity I hunted on okcupid. I strung him along right before I turned off my profile four years ago. He became a friend later. I am… very interested in what I missed. I am interested in large part because he was super enthusiastic about an intense negotiation and lead up and then…. he was nice when I backed out. He never demonstrated even an ounce of entitlement. He’s been sweet and mellow ever since. He pops up to initiate conversations with me more than the vast majority of people I know. He continues to seek me out just because he wants to talk to me.

He’s in between relationships so he seems to find it entertaining to show me what I missed. And he did buy that picnic basket just for seducing me and then we never got around to it. So he’s about four years old. (Uhhh… wait… that sounds wrong.)

I think that is going to be a lot of fun. I haven’t had a new-to-me partner with lots of lead up in a very long time. This is going to be… interesting. Fun. Exciting! I feel like this is appealing for a variety of reasons. For one: new people are always exciting to me. Repeats are good too, but new people have a special spice. For another: he feels safe. I’m not sure I’d be willing to go to the house of a random one-off right now. It feels risky in a way I can’t do right now. But this deity seems fine. He’s been to my house. He isn’t a stranger. He isn’t random.

He isn’t yet in my count but I feel like I know him enough that I have a very good understanding of how this will play out.

Why do I call him French vanilla? Because he’s kinky but not in the way I think of from my Middle Guard training experiences. He’s closer to Noah. There is a difference between people who like having kinky sex when they happen to be in a relationship and people who will go to bdsm and/or sex parties every weekend and munches throughout the week because they just need to be around perverts.

It’s not a bad difference, but there is a big difference.

I… can’t write about number three yet. That’s a story.

Otherwise I plan to go do as much bdsm play with old friends as I can manage at the few parties I get to go to for a while. Noah says I can play freely at parties (with barriers). In my experience of the bdsm community like 99% of my bdsm play will be non-sexual. Noah and I intend to hit up the occasional swingers party which will be no-lead-up-casual-sex.

Uhm. Yeah. That’s my itinerary.

I feel a little…. weird… about the fact that this is in fact kinda reserved for me. God damn. I’m not interested in lining anyone else up because I get a date a month. Why so many? Why so fast? Because there are all these parts of me that are screaming and screaming and screaming for attention and I can’t even look at them in my normal life.

Number three is a story.

I find that people (who want kinky sex at all) tend to fall into two generic camps. People for whom bdsm/etc is foreplay and they are there to get laid. Then the people for whom genital stimulation may be almost entirely optional. They are there for the emotional power trip.

I “grew up” with people who were not genitally focused. I learned a lot of things that way. I learned a lot of associations and behaviors. I am a genitally focused person. I like doing bdsm without sex but if I’m going to pick either bdsm or sex 9/10 times I’ll pick sex. (Which is part of why Noah is so dreamy. He likes kink stuff, but mostly we just fuck like rabbits.)

So French vanilla is anything but an insult. It’s a way of helping myself evaluate what I’m in for. A lot of why I like having promiscuous sex is because I like making other people feel good. I like getting them off. I like having them feel satisfied. French vanilla sex is kinda my sweet spot but I have needs outside that range too. I am closer to a weekend warrior than a Lifestyler.

I choose that.

I have been a Lifestyler. I didn’t get fucked enough and that was a serious problem.

But I feel like I have bdsm needs that aren’t getting met in this new era of raining dick. (Thank you Noah. I am grateful.) I’m not sure what that means. I’m not sure how to do this. I’m not sure what I actually need.

It’s not that Noah and I never do bdsm play. It’s not that I dislike how he plays. It is that there are differences in our styles and preferences and experience levels.Not insurmountable problems. But problems that are hard to solve given the limitations in our lives.

Just for now. I think this will get easier with time.

Despite other flattering offers being floated up to my door in bottles… I think this is going to be a full roster for this year. I don’t know that the deity will be an ongoing thing. I have no idea what Number Three wants yet, not really. I don’t know what I want either. I think it will be ongoing with my submissive. I want to really delve into this.

I think that doing these things is part of loving myself. Even though that is complicated. I’m not one thing or another. I’m not a gentle person. I’m not a harsh person. I’m a little bit of everything, all rolled into one. (Thanks Meredith Brooks.)

I’m scared of wanting these things. I’m scared of wanting these people. I’ve wanted them for a long time. It’s not like any of this desire is new. I’ve just been actively sitting on it for years… mostly to prove that I can.

See. I can pick Noah. I can be Loyal. But it’s…. hard.

I’m not that loyal of a person. Or rather, I’m loyal in ways that might be nonstandard. There are gals who start dating a military guy at 15 (like I did) and stay with him forever. I replaced him within a few months. If I don’t like how I’m being treated… I move on. Bye now.

Every.Single.One of these doors I’m knocking on are guys (why are they always guys? Cause they are easier to approach?) who have demonstrated over literal years that I am worth emotional labor from them. Even though most women complain bitterly that they can never get a guy to perform emotional labor for them. God I feel like an asshole. How did I get so lucky?! Noah says it is because I am finicky and demanding and that draws the kind of people who like to jump through hoops. He says that emotional labor is one of those massively unfair feast or famine things. Either folks find ways to gets tons of it from the people around them or they get almost none.

I get a lot.

The doors I’m knocking on aren’t doors I closed because I didn’t like them or didn’t want them (or maybe I didn’t at the time). The doors I am knocking on are doors where I have experienced intense emotional support without having to earn it. I just… got it. Because they wanted to give it to me.

Why do I always turn that into wanting to have sex with people? I don’t. But sometimes I do. Particularly with men who overlap with my sexual interests oh so neatly. I don’t have women or non-binary people throwing themselves at me in the same way.

Shooting fish in a barrel is way easier than taking a shotgun out on a boat and hoping you hit something. I’m a lazy predator. I like knowing I’m going to succeed. So I ask super bluntly, really early, and only keep around the people who seem like they really deserve it and have an appropriately high level of interest. If you aren’t that into me I need to move on.

It’s not like I have a shortage of people I know. These are people who showed up to do emotional labor, while indicating that I’m hot, and taking no really well.

How could I not fall in love with them?

I don’t know.

I’ll be straight that the French vanilla deity is the one I’m the least in love with. But I still like him a whole awful lot. He’s funny, serious but not in an obnoxious way, so smart, patient, aware…

He’s also the newest. Things do tend to age and mature for me. My submissive has been in my life for the longest. Then Noah. Then Daddy. Then Number Three. Then the French Vanilla deity at a mere four years.

I sure do like to put people through the ringer.

Why are they still interested at all? I really don’t know. I don’t.

I hope it is partially because they show up to perform emotional labor when they feel they have it to give and I am not needy, demanding, or obnoxious about invading their lives? I’m ok with being a ball of need alone in a room. I don’t have to demand that someone fix me, not now. I still like talking to people though.

Despite super intensively interesting awesome offers floating into my inbox…

This is a way full roster. Holy crap Krissy. Uhm. If you’ve been following long enough you know it isn’t that extreme. Picture me slapping my face down into my hands now.

These are all people who have indicated a high degree of agreement with my beliefs around how much my children should know.

I’ve spent a lot of the last few years trying to get my emotional/attention needs met from female friends in platonic relationships. Guess what, this isn’t doing what I want it to do. Most of them aren’t real available. They don’t have much drive to perform a lot of emotional labor for me and as a result… I have mostly stopped calling them. I’m an asshole but it is hard to be the one who calls more than 90% of the time. At some point I will just stop. And Pam is about to leave the state for a few years.

I think I needed to slam this door open so hard because what support network I was building wasn’t working at all and I need to go back to something that has had more success or I can’t keep giving to the kids the way I am. My drawer of spoons is empty. You know what… that’s not true. I actually have a few spoons in my drawer right now. I feel like I have finally started reversing the flow.

I’m sleeping better. I have more energy to be productive when I do work. I’m resting better when I’m supposed to rest. My digestion is still… settling while I do this cleanse nonsense. I’m almost done though and I told the nutritionist I need a break.

I haven’t been seeing chiropractors or acupuncturists in a bit because I’m freaking out about money. It’ll even out…. soon I hope. I skipped my massage this week because I threw up an hour before my appointment.

And yet I still feel so much better than I did. I feel like I have stuff to do. I feel like I’m excited to go to sleep because that will give me energy to wake up and do the things I want to do.

I feel better than I have in many years of sitting in the park all day. Somehow… I didn’t get many emotional needs met that way.

And yeah, hunting is part of this. I like the me I am with Noah. I like all the gifts he has given me in terms of emotional labor, attention, and approval. But he has like, a job and an own self to pay attention to, and kids, and books he writes and… stuff.

Whoo hoo! Number Three woke up and gave me approval to talk about him. Hot.

Ok. I’m now glad this took me long enough. We did take a break to go to breakfast.

Number Three shall henceforth be known as the Professor. He is another person I met on okcupid, but I met him during that freakishly short period of time I lived alone in San Jose. Puppy had just dumped me. I was teaching. I was freaking out because I left my Owner because I wanted to find someone to marry and have kids with and the hunt wasn’t going very well. The Professor wasn’t the Professor then. He was exactly my age and still in college. He was interested in me.

He came over and helped me grade papers. We kissed once and I couldn’t handle kissing a cigarette smoker and I said no.

That was eleven years ago. In that time he has become my friend. (He also quit smoking.) He has had his own life story in that time. Relationships that taught him lessons, painful and otherwise. On this list of doors I’m knocking on he is by far the closest to being a Lifestyler. He has spent most of the last ten years hanging out in the community getting very good at a lot of physical skills. I haven’t seen him play in a while, but the way he talks about himself has changed. More humble and more self assured at the same time.

He is also one of the most pedantic motherfuckers I have ever had the privilege to know.

If you know me you know that sentence is dripping with admiration and affection.

Noah is a pedantic motherfucker. The Professor can give him a run for his money. They mostly don’t overlap in areas of obsessive study and this is better for the whole universe.

I clearly have an intellect fetish thinking about the folks I’m chasing hard.

If you can’t teach me something, why am I here? I have things I need to learn and right now I’m in a very selfish stage. The only people I’m teaching are my kids because they take all that I have to give in that department and then some.

The Professor will take me on a journey. As much as I love that Noah’s bdsm is seriously dominated by his desire to fuck me, the Professor isn’t quite so dick obsessed. (I love you Noah, I’m not complaining.) This will be a long scene. The kind I used to do a few times a week. The kind that take you on a journey of emotional development and leave you wrung out like a dishrag on the floor, spent.

I want it. I want to be hit and hit and hit and hit and hit.

Want to know something funny? I don’t know for sure if he will kiss me. I don’t know if he will have any interest in fucking me. I… I am not 100% sure where my preferences lie. I’m not chasing him because I feel like I haveto haveto haveto get access to his dick. I’m chasing him because I think he has the precision and control to fuck with my mind. Perhaps he will also want to fuck with my cunt and I’m not opposed to that. But it is less the goal. I will be ok with following that journey where it needs to go. I think there is a part of me that thinks I can’t get too interested in sex with him because I want him to decide at the end of the scene and I want to be ok either way. If I get my hopes up and he doesn’t want to fuck me I will feel rejected and bad and really not ok. If I decide I don’t want to fuck him and he does want to fuck me I will probably not want to say no and that’s complicated.

For the record, I’m totally leaning towards wanting to fuck him and I’m trying not to get too focused. I have now seen a picture of his cock (I love my friends) and I’m pretty confident that wouldn’t be scary. Fantastic. Yes. Try not to have expectations. I may not even get to see his cock in person. Just accept. Because that is seriously what I’m looking for that night.

So I’m out here chasing a stone relationship, one where I don’t know if I will get laid or not, one where I was told probably not, and one where sex is a more sure thing at least once but I don’t know if it will continue.

So I’m thinking with my cunt and I’m not.

Noah, thank you for your permission.

Want to know why this is worthwhile for Noah? Today is the 13th of the month and we’ve already hit quota (10 times/month). February was quota and a half. Our sex life explodes when I feel like I have more options.

The kids have been telling me that I’m being more patient and fun. They are noticing an improvement to such a degree that they are spontaneously commenting on it.

I’m not sure I’m doing anything bad here. But I’m scared. I’m scared I will hurt everyone. I’m scared that I’m so selfish I don’t deserve all of this wonderful. I should let more of the decent men go find other women. (Hey–every single one of these dudes is seeing multiple women. I’m not monopolizing anyone but Noah. And he’s hunting.)

Why did I flip from NO to yes?

I’m not feeling honorable.

I want this. I want this. I want this.

Cycles must change

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Had a chat with Noah last night about the fact that he’s been a wilting flower for quite a while here. He periodically complains that all he gets to do is work. He’s right that all he does is work at his job, work on his second job, and work at home. It’s true. But I’ve been telling him to change that for over a year. I was kinda mad at him for sitting at home when we were on the roadtrip. YOU HAVE FRIENDS. GO SEE THEM.

But Noah does that man-thing where he isn’t good at organizing and arranging stuff with people unless he is dating them. Then he’s better than average.

I told Noah that he should finish the book he is most of the way through creating, because he’s already put so much time into it. But he should finish by June. Then he needs to take a break from having a second job, kind of indefinitely.

And instead of hunting for a raise in your next job you should look for an 80% position. If we could have that at exactly this salary, rad. If we lost $10k-$20k it wouldn’t be a problem at all. If we kept good medical insurance, a $20,000 dip would be fine if it gave us 3 day weekends every week.

Noah has been working like a fiend for ten straight years. He has provided magnificently. He has put us on a such a trajectory that it would take a rather major disaster for us to lose course. We are almost set for life.

And it’s not really about the second job, you know? Your primary job pays absurdly well. We are fine. It’s ok to spend more time not working. It’s ok to remember if you even have friends. Hell, after how hard you’ve worked for this long… go date. Something. Stop looking like a sad zombie walking through life.

I have worried that Noah was depressed for a while. I’ve been talking to him about it. He doesn’t find a lot of joy in… anything. I’m concerned. If this is how you feel just doing work and the kids and me…

Let’s change something. You matter. You are so important. Your happiness is so important.

Sarah is smart and Sarah says, “Ok, you are up. How are you going to handle the come down?”

This is why I keep my friends around. They check me on my shit. They keep it real. They remind me of the realities of my life. I know I’ll come down again.

I’m actually being somewhat careful about this up. I’m not adding that many new things. A date a month. A couple of parties a month. That’s … very moderate for me.

The kids, Noah, and I have all expressed a really strong desire to slow down, which I find hilarious given that we have a slower pace of life than most of the people we know in the bay area. This is still too much for me. Everyone has requested that we try to get to two days a week of classes. (That’ll be tricky.) We want to have not a lot on our plates so that we have the energy to say, “Hey do any of our friends want to come over for dinner?”

Right now we are too tired. We don’t want to see people much because we are drained and pissy. Everything dips from our bucket instead of filling it.

Only flirting with my submissive is dumping extra spoons in my drawer every day. I’m sleeping really well. Last night I got more than eight hours of sleep. I’m trying so hard.

 

I’m told I have to go cook eggs now. I told Noah he could have a no-chore weekend because he’s looking like a limp dish rag.

I love you honey.

Users Guide 3.0 Married with Children Edition

2 Replies

Many… many years ago I copied the idea of a users guide from my friend because I know that I am difficult to figure out when it comes to sex sometimes. I’m picky and fussy and just generally demanding. Therefore it seems like a lovely idea to have some sort of cheat sheet about how to handle me in general. Some of these things I have figured out on my own, some of these things I have had pointed out to me by friends and/or lovers/husband, some of these things are constantly in flux and will no longer be true in just a few months. Of course this is a living document and therefore subject to change and revision without notice. Just because something is in here doesn’t mean you should assume that for now and all times this is the only thing I like/want/don’t like etc. After the roller coaster that was pregnancy and giving birth, I promise you things change in my body over time.

Index:
A. Before sex (including courtship/getting to know one another)
1. Just meeting and assumptions.
2. Appearance stuff and attraction.
a. Hair
b. Weight/height
c. Gender
d. Cocks
e. Race
f. Oral Hygiene
3. STIs/safer sex
4. Foreplay
a. Breasts
b. Ways to turn me on
B. During sex (including bdsm play)
1. Oral sex
2. Positions
3. Vibrators
4. Bondage
5. Group Sex
6. D/s
7. Pain
8. Care of the delicate bits
C. After sex. (including relationship level interactions)

A. Before Sex
1. Just getting acquainted
a. General

Never assume that you are going to get to go to bed with me. Yes, I go to bed with quite a few people—that doesn’t mean I will choose you. I expect and require that people treat me as an equal, and more importantly as an intelligent, thoughtful, responsible human being until otherwise negotiated. Please don’t act like I ought to be honored to teach you whatever it is you want to know about play/sex/whatever. I have taught classes and initiated virgins and newbies alike. I’ve put in my time to the community. I can coast on doing what pleases me and only what pleases me.

b. Specifics in a Having-Kids-Lifestyle

I don’t have a lot of free time. What free time I have is mostly spent alone because I have a very high intensity life that requires me to be well regulated emotionally despite stress. I can’t focus on getting to know new adults in a really concentrated way. I’m not flakey, but I don’t have much availability. And to be honest I’m a little flakey. My priority at this stage of my life is being nice to my kids. I have to keep the rest of my life quiet enough for that to happen or I have to drop other stuff. That is the deal for another ten years.

2. Appearance stuff and attraction
a. Hair
Once upon a time I said that I prefer clean shaven men, but that has radically changed during my adulthood. My opinion now varies tremendously based on personal attitude, grooming standards, and just plain what suits each face. As for the hair on other peoples heads: I don’t care anymore. I barely notice. I’m interested in your mind. I like body hair on anyone. Pubic hair doesn’t affect me one way or the other. I sometimes shave large portions of my body. I sometimes skip shaving for over a year at a go. You have to be totally ok with either or go away.

b. Weight/height

My weight goes up and down in a 40 pound range like a yo yo. Almost annually. You can’t be attracted to me for a specific look of my body. It will be different next month. I don’t know what the fork is up with it. Yes, I talk to doctors about it. I like people with bodies. I like fat bodies. I am…more appreciative of slender bodies than I used to be, but I still prefer some heft. I used to be a bit hung up on height and now I don’t care. I like people.

c. Gender

I am a cis-gender woman. If you haven’t picked up on the fact that I am queer then you haven’t been reading closely. I have had strong attractions to people at every point on the gender spectrum. I am completely comfortable having sexual contact that begins with, “What words do you want me to use for your body parts and how do you want me to touch you?” because I can’t guess. Everyone is unique.

d. Cocks (What the hell—since I am listing my preferences…)

Everyone should remember that the vagina is all about potential space. Yes, it can technically stretch, but in a normal resting spot it isn’t particularly large. My body doesn’t stretch terribly well or willingly (even after giving birth to two children) so I am not a fan of overly large cocks. Period. If it is going to cause my jaw to be sore within five minutes of oral sex I will probably experience a lot of pain during sex and that isn’t good for me. I am so not a size queen. I do not have lower limits on the size of cocks I can figure out how to enjoy. Not all sex is about penis in vagina sex. But I do have upper limits. Ow. No thank you. It’s not personal.

e. Race/marginalization

This is complicated. I am aware that I am most comfortable treating heterosexual white men like pieces of meat. If I fuck them and don’t call later… I don’t feel real bad. I have major hang ups around using people of color and women and gender ambiguous people in the same way. I feel tremendous shame and guilt around hurting already marginalized people. Which is to say… I really like having sex with people who are not het white men. I have a hard time approaching them. I don’t want to hurt them and I am less clear on the boundaries. I err on the side of not being a using asshole. But if you are interested… let me know.

f. Oral Hygiene

YES. Bad breath/teeth that look unclean is really really really repellent to me. I generally won’t kiss someone with bad breath. I will elect not to even if you are a nice person. Just no. I smoke pot and that has impact on my mouth. I do not mind kissing other people who smoke pot. I still really am not fond of kissing tobacco smokers. I don’t like the taste at all.

3. STIs/safer sex

The first thing that ought to happen in foreplay is a discussion of STI’s and safer sex expectations. I have honestly not been tested that recently but I was monogamous until the last month so I don’t feel too guilty. I’ll get back on a regular testing schedule. My habit is every six months if I am being promiscuous. (As of 4/2 waiting on results but I have been in for testing.)

I am a big proponent of the idea that we are having “safer” sex. The only safe sex is with your hand. There is risk involved in the play I do and I acknowledge it and try to minimize it. I do not have a desire to play with people who are in denial about said risk.

Gloves… ok honestly we probably won’t be 100% sticklers about gloves but we do use them in party environments because they are safer and more hygienic in a group atmosphere.

Condoms are not negotiable.

I have HPV. I have tested clean since 2003, but technically you always kinda have it? I am very very very upfront with this information. I am happy to provide you with access to information. You are an adult and you make your own decisions based on how much of a risk you are willing to take. Given the prevalence of HPV I think it isn’t that big of a deal, but I don’t have to live in your body for the next umpteen years and you do. I never want someone to regret having been intimate with me and I will defer to the stricter preference for barriers. I also test positive for HSV1, commonly known as oral herpes. I have had a few cold sores as an adult but they are rare and I feel them coming.

4. Foreplay

a. Breasts

This is really funny… but I feel like I should start tracking this on my period application on my phone. How much breast stimulation, and what kind, varies dramatically through the month. There are days when I will claw your eyes out if you brush near them too hard. There are days when I really want gentle stimulation and lots of it. There are days I want to be hurt very badly. Sigh. I married the most wonderful, flexible guy.

I love playing with breasts/tits. I like on the rough end but I’m not married to it.

b. Ways to turn me on

First and foremost: talk to me. Tell me how hot you think I am. Tell me what you want to do to me. Tell me what you are doing while you are doing it. Just hearing you narrate how wet I am when you slide your finger into my cunt will increase the quantity of wetness. Read me porn. Have me read you porn. My brain is the most potent sexual organ in my body. Pay attention to it. Do you know why I like having sex with my friends? Because the ones I have sex with are the ones who have spent years buttering me up talking about what they like from sex.

Stroke my legs, particularly behind my knees. It is very easy to turn me on when I am lying on my stomach and my legs and back are stroked lightly. This is by far the most sensuous activity for me. I love having my neck and head stroked gently. It’s not a massage–it’s… waking up sensual contact.

Biting is hard. I like it but I get hurt really badly too easily in a way that causes me to go to dark mental places and I dissociate. It isn’t off the table… but it’s complicated. Be really careful. Watch me. Make sure I am still “there”.

Tell me how to please you. I love having someone tell me how to get them off—it will usually be enough to get me off. An awful lot of what I get out of sex with people other than my husband is that thrilling feeling of, “Hey here is someone I haven’t practiced on for years and I’m still talented enough to get them off. Yay!” So lots of instructions about what you want and how you want will… turn me into butter. (Once you have permission to talk to me like this. If I indicate a boundary you had better back off like you hit an electric fence or you’ll get the full taser.[not literally])

B. During Sex

1. Oral sex

I like giving blowjobs. A lot a lot a lot. I like them the most if there is some degree of being “forced” involved. I’m not talking about serious forcing, but pushing my head down on your cock is going to get me all wet. Telling me to suck your cock will get me all wet. Asking me politely if I would mind will probably cause me to lose interest in giving you oral sex. If I do it at all it will be a lackluster job and I dislike performing poorly. OH! These suggestions apply to people I have already had sex with. If I have not had sex with you, you bloody well need to ask. For those of you who have already had sex with me, guiding my head down slowly is giving me plenty of time to say, “Not today.”

For the record: if I have given you a blow job I consider you one of my sexual partners. None of this “oral sex doesn’t count as sex” crap. Don’t bloody ever tell me that we haven’t really had sex. You have fucked my body and probably (hopefully) come inside me. We have had sex. Sure, it was a different hole. Whoopie. It was still penetrative sex. Don’t worry about asking me if it is ok to come in my mouth. If I like you enough to let your dick in my mouth, I’m happy to have you come. I do prefer being told when it is happening so I can synch my breathing, but it is just a preference.

I do have a strong gag reflex and if I seriously fight to bring my head back after you have forcibly shoved my head down on your cock… let me go. I may be on my way to run to the bathroom and vomit. It has happened. It will probably happen again. I’m ok with this. Please don’t let the possibility of this happening prevent you from fucking my mouth with enthusiasm. It is great for me. This being said, I’m not terribly thrilled with having a relationship centered solely around me giving blow jobs. I will eventually feel kind of used (after a year of being in that kind of relationship I really didn’t like him anymore and I didn’t like me much more).
I haven’t played with someone who had a cunt in many years. Sigh. I remember them fondly.

Also: I really like getting oral sex while wearing a strap on. That is fucktastically hot.

2. Positions

I am old, cranky, and in chronic pain. There are times when I am up for acrobatic porn-star sex. There are days when it is, “I am here. What more do you want from me?” I can be fun enough whatever my range for the day. But you will have to respect where my body is on a given day. Your fantasies take a back seat to my physical limitations.

3. Vibrators

In this post kid era, there are times when penetrative sex alone is not enough to get me off. Mr Hitachi, however, never lets me down. (Well, Mr. Hitachi IV is dying a pathetic death right now so he is in fact letting me down. But I have Mr. Hitachi V lined up and he is just dreamy.) I think the point of me having sex is so that I can get off. I know that other people have different beliefs about the purpose of sex, that is fine for them. I’m here to get off. If I’m not going to get off with you alone I will not hesitate to whip out my friend. Don’t worry. You will like the feeling of me orgasming enough to get over your ego at not being able to do it alone. It isn’t you. My body is kinda annoying at this stage. (For the record, when I want to be fucked while using a vibrator I almost always want to be face down.)

4. Bondage

Complicated. Once upon a time I spent a lot of time tying people up and being tied up. It isn’t really Noah’s thing so I don’t really do it any more. But I miss it fiercely. I really like being tied up. I really like being suspended. I really really like being suspended and fucked. Oh the good old days.

5. Group sex
Why yes, I would love to engage in group sex. Thank you for asking. I will make everyone talk more than they feel comfortable talking about wants, limits, permission, consent, etc. Because I need to hear all of those things said out loud. But then hell yeah.

6. D/s

What a difference ten years makes. Wow. Reading my old section here…. delete.

I am in a marriage that has power differential within tightly negotiated boundaries as we model a highly egalitarian marriage in front of our children. It will change after they grow up and we don’t have to look like such nice people any more. We have plans. Ahem.

I uhm, appear to have distinct interest in exactly one submissive man. How the hell did that happen? So I’m really not hunting for more in that department. I think my dance card will be full.

If I am playing with you on a more one-off basis it is very ok to negotiate for a D/s dynamic and tell me what kinds of things you fantasize about. I can be almost anyone for an hour.

7. Pain

Post-children my body has changed dramatically and I honestly don’t know what I like. Well, I know I still like single tails and canes. Those are my perennial favorites. My husband doesn’t know how to use a single tail. Do you? Choking is completely off the table. I have pre-stroke symptoms that are very concerning and I have young children. We cannot risk my life.

8. Care of the delicate bits

Due to some of the stuff that happened when I was very young I have a whole lot of scar tissue throughout my vagina/labia/anus. Scar tissue is like a dotted line in the skin that means, “Please tear here.” Despite my very strong desire for rough, and rougher, and rougher sex… I can’t actually handle all that I would like to handle. (Damnit.) Don’t pull roughly on my labia. Don’t pull my ass cheeks apart with any speed or force. Just DON’T. I will tear open and it will hurt and hurt and that will mostly curtail sex for hours if not days. It sucks ass and so I try to avoid massive tearing. Gentle handling of the bits is important.

That is the paragraph from the pre-kids era. The only update I will give to that is: having children did do some work to break up the internal scar tissue inside my vagina. (Hurray!) But I am still delicate in a way you would not expect from someone with my overall temperament. I’m a fragile toy. Treat me with care.

C. After Sex/play

Immediately after sex/play I will want to breathe and hug for a few minutes. I will want a check in email afterwards for any bdsm play–I do not need it for vanilla sex. I like being friends with people but that has to happen around my schedule. It is highly limited. I’m not rejecting you. I’m dealing with the fact that right now my life is about figuring out how to be healthy around my kids and that is much harder for me than you might think. It takes a lot of time and energy. It is very important to me that I do this right. It will remain my focus for quite some time.